She stood and crossed to the window again. The view of Jetboy’s Tomb seemed fitting. A monument to failure. He at least had had a fighting chance. But against Horrorshow, nobody stood a fucking chance.

She tried to make them see. Pointing at the logo on her mug, she said, “Your team is dead.”

So fierce was the look flashing across Ray’s face that Mollie took a step back. He trembled as though tensing for a physical fight. “You don’t know that! You don’t know my wife! She could … Nobody knows what’s going on over there.”

“I know!” Mollie shouted. “I know. I’ve been inside it, okay? A rage-slave to mindless supernatural evil. You don’t know what it’s like! You have NO MOTHERFUCKING IDEA.” People in the outer office turned to stare. She ignored them. “You can’t imagine it. There’s no fighting it. I don’t care who you are. My dad and brothers put each other in the hospital in just a few seconds. At least two of them will never have normal lives, assuming they survive their injuries. Taking a crowbar to the face half a dozen times will do that to a person. And they’re just nats, all of them! Chew on that for a moment. You’re talking about trying to rescue aces who’ve been inside it for hours.”

Baden said, gently, “We have to try to save them.”

“And you’re the only person for the job,” said Jayewardene. He had a very gentle manner, quite welcome in contrast to Ray. “So will you please help us? You could save many lives.”

“I understand,” Baden said, “you have a rather, ahh, colorful record.” (Agent Ray snorted. “That’s one word for it.”) She ignored him, continuing, “In return for your help, we could arrange to wipe the slate clean.”

Wow. They really were desperate. But that meant Mollie had bargaining power. Leverage. Good. She could salvage something good out of this nightmare. Because she didn’t give a runny shit about her “record”—she wanted something else, and these guys had the power to make it happen. So if they wanted her help so badly, they’d have to earn it.

Mollie said, “Here’s my condition. I want to talk to Baba Yaga first.”

That shut them up. After a moment’s bewildered silence, Ray said, “A little while ago you looked ready to drop one in your pants when you thought she was at your farm.”

She glared at him. “You said you needed my help. I’ve listened to your story, but now it’s my turn. And I won’t lift a fucking finger until you put me in a room with Baba Yaga.” And maybe not even then. Not if it means returning to the psychopath cannibal hellhole. “But if that vodka-marinated cunt even thinks of hocking a loogie at me—”

“She won’t,” said Baden. “We’re all on the same side here, okay?”

“Okay,” Mollie said, not fully convinced. “Fine. Let’s go and see that withered old bitch. Where is she?”